


Water Under the Bridge

by Lonewritersclub



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Loneliness, Oneshot, Sad Joker, Slurs, because that's my thing apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 20:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12689646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonewritersclub/pseuds/Lonewritersclub
Summary: He's alone most of the time but Joker doesn't want to question why that is. Everyone's just so busy all the time.





	Water Under the Bridge

No one cares about him.

No one.

Now that's the truth but that doesn't mean it he sees it that way. He believes in other things on the way because he's got too many plans and is too excited to think otherwise. Besides, he has to have some pride in him. Some goddamn dignity, he mutters to the foggy mirror. However, the truth always does lie somewhere between the cold bedsheets in the evening and morning. Then, when he feels terribly lonesome and desperate for relief, he finds himself frozen on the spot, staring at a phone he cannot use because

"who would he call?"

The answer is: No one.

Who would answer? Who would ever answer positively to him? Agree to destroy the world? Agree to have coffee? So he stays put for some while as he gazes around an empty room that's supposed to be his home and sighs before lunging back into action, refusing to see the truth. It must be... it must be that...

Everyone's so busy all the time doing their own thing. It's not Joker's fault - it's not because of him - they can't come.

He dresses swiftly, paints his face, boils his own coffee, eats marmite out of the jar with burned toast slices and leaves for the office. Out on the street he realizes he still cannot do it alone. He does need someone. But who is he supposed to ask when they all turn him down consistently?

No one.

So instead he pickpockets a couple of rich kids walking the highstreet and goes back to his people by the alleys. There he annoys a few unfortunate ones left adrift by society's expectations and pays them the good cash so they'll help him rob him the corner mechanics store that's really a money laundry for the mob. First, they refuse him too because they know the risks but Joker has a silvertongue and a quick witted haywire brain and it doesn't take all that long and not that many extra hundred bucks before they agree

"fine, you've got two hours, freak"

and they are on their way.

The heist goes over nicely and there's plenty of money to bag in until the mob shows up in the shiny black cars. They point their many guns at him and at the three henchmen Joker managed to hire. Those men grunt at him and throw Joker under the bus taking all the money they can grab as they flee the first chance they get.

Joker makes a couple dry jokes

"you can't trust anyone on the streets anymore, now can you. But thank goodness we can always still rely on the _Batman_!"

and laughs alone at them. The mob boss, big, imposing, closes in on him, pushing the Magnum against the green side of his head, and sneers at him

"I could shoot ya right here, ya crazy bastard and _nobody_ would give two shits."

And Joker smiles all toothy and watches giddily as the Batman swoops in and punches them all to the ground, unconscious and bloody, leaving only the Joker standing.

The Bat turns around to meet the Joker's excited face with his bloodied knuckles silent and brooding as always. There he looks at him for a second or two and Joker's already handing himself out but instead of coming to handcuff him, the Bat scowls, 

 

in disinterest,

 

and turns away with his swooshing cape and

leaves.

Leaving the Joker standing alone with the moonlight coming through the windows washing his white face blank.

He stands there for a minute or an hour before trudging over the shattered glass, his fine patent leather shoes becoming scratched, and goes through the broken window back into the alley. A lone street gang member hangs there smoking a joint casually, and absentmindedly the Joker beats the hell out of him.

Numbly he walks back "home" and drinks sweet tasting booze before falling back between cold bedsheets.

Before he closes his tired wet eyes, he looks to the phone again that never rings, and then to the night sky where the Batsignal is lit up high and mighty against dark clouds.

He buries his face into the pillow he's hugging and swallows back the truth that's threatening to come up with a bitter aftertaste. That small heavy suspicion at the back of his mind looming on his sanity. Joker squeezes his eyes shut to desperately keep them at bay. That

_maybe no one cares because they hate him._

_Or just because they don't want him._

_Or worst of all..._

_... he's simply_

_insignificant._

And that's a hard truth to know. One that's hard to change. One he can't accept.

So the Joker swallows some more.


End file.
